


Over Eggs And Bacon

by UnrelentingHost



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 11:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrelentingHost/pseuds/UnrelentingHost
Summary: Sherlock freezes every time John observes him interacting with Rosie. John decides to do something about it.





	Over Eggs And Bacon

Mornings, these days, were John's favourite part of the day. He would wake up ridiculously early to feed his grouchy toddler, then usually around 30 minutes later his other, and considerably taller, grouchy toddler would stumble into the kitchen and refuse to be fed.

Sherlock was doing well these days or so it seemed to John. He would pretend to be irritated by Rosie's presence and complain about John's attention being directed towards something other than himself, but John knew that when his back was turned, Sherlock would slip treats in Rosie's mouth and pat her hair affectionately. John pretended not to notice, and their farce would continue.

Mornings like that made John introspective; he would linger over the stove and take a look at his life, and the two most important people in it, and remind himself that he was happy.

As wonderful as those mornings were, John knew he was missing something, he just didn't know what. Those sort of thoughts kept him up at night. He found himself lying awake at four in the morning making mental checklists of thing that made him happy and why.

  * Rosie, in general.

  * Her soft curls, in particular.

  * Sherlock, in general.

  * His soft curls, in particular.




John was sensing an interesting pattern in the things that made him happy, but it didn't make much sense. He had these things in his life, so what could possibly be missing?

He was back at 221B, his daughter was happy and healthy, he was back to running around with Sherlock (within reason), and everything was good.

It was a Monday morning when he finally realised what had been missing in his life.

Rosie was screaming her lungs out and John was struggling with the straps of her high chair when Sherlock stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed and dishevelled.

“Morning, can you lend me a hand with her real quick?” John glanced back at Sherlock who stood frozen by the fridge. “Sherlock, come on, before my ears fall off!”

At that, Sherlock timidly approached where John was fighting the screaming banshee. John moved out of the way and handed Sherlock the straps.

“Strap her in, I'm going to grab a squeeze pack,” John said and went for the fridge. He was still rummaging around for the most likely flavour of baby food to pacify Rosie, when suddenly the kitchen went very quiet.

He turned around slowly to observe, with surprise, Sherlock murmuring softly to his smiling daughter.

“Incredible.”

Sherlock straightened like a rod and started spluttering.

“I, ah- I'm not, I mean I didn't-”

“Relax, I'm glad you got her to stop trying to breach the sound barrier.”

“That's not actually how the sound-”

“Here,” John passed him the packet. “Give her this while I make us a proper breakfast.”

Sherlock's expression of horror was priceless, and John chuckled quietly to himself and turned to pull out ingredients from the fridge. He kept an eye on Sherlock and Rosie, because honestly they were a sight to behold. Once John busied himself, Sherlock seemed to relax. He carefully cracked open the squeeze packet and handed it to an eager and giggling Rosie.

John could hear him murmur quietly to her and stopped banging around with the pan to listen.

“Be careful with that,” Sherlock was saying. “We don't want to get all dirty this early in the morning.”

Rosie was listening to him with rapt attention. John tried to hide his amazement, not wanting to scare Sherlock off again.

“I don't understand why you like this tasteless goo so much. Granted, the squeezing aspect looks entertaining but ultimately you're just eating artificial flavouring and preservatives.” Sherlock chided and wiped Rosie's cheek with a wash-cloth.

John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's serious tone and complex language. He loved how Sherlock never simplified his speech when talking to children.

The bacon had started sizzling on the pan when John casually turned around and leaned against the counter. Sherlock froze again under his gaze and John couldn't help but ask.

“Why are you so nervous?”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are. You like Rosie, I know that, but whenever I'm around you seem to tense up.”

Sherlock didn't say anything, just stared down at the wash-cloth he was still holding.

“I like watching you two interact. I like the way you talk to her, and I like having another adult around to help out with parenting duties.”

Sherlock said nothing. John felt awkward.

“Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to see more of this,” he muttered and gestured in Rosie's and Sherlock's general direction.

The bacon was calling John with snarks and snarls from the pan. He grabbed plates and started serving breakfast.

“Eat some of this, please,” John commanded as he set a plate in front of Sherlock.

He sat down himself and started tucking into his own food. Sherlock still hadn't moved an inch and Rosie had started to tug on his curls.

“Leave his curls alone, darling,” John requested gently and tried prying Rosie's fingers out of Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock continued to be still as a statue, John couldn't help but marvel at the softness of his curls. It was almost a crime to let them go once Rosie's fingers had been carefully disentangled.

John busied himself by cleaning Rosie's face with the wash-cloth, she giggled and tried to suck on it, opening her mouth comically every time John stroked her cheeks.

“I didn't want to grow too attached.”

John whipped his head around quickly enough to give himself whiplash. He stared at Sherlock in disbelief but didn't dare speak a word.

“I failed in that respect. I feel attached and it scares me.”

John regarded Sherlock with fondness in his eyes. Sherlock was staring at his own hands.

“Why does it scare you?”

Sherlock raised his head slowly and made eye-contact. His eyes were shining, John realised in horror, with unshed tears.

“Because you'll leave,” Sherlock croaked.

“What?” John stared unseeing at his best friend and wondered if this was in fact a nightmare.

“You're a romantic, John,” Sherlock said. “You will eventually find some woman, get married again, and move away to raise Rosie with her, obviously.”

Sherlock frowned down at his hands, unwilling to meet John's eyes. John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock was so wrong. He was so, so wrong. John wouldn't leave. He couldn't. There wasn't a woman, or even a person, on this earth that could replace Sherlock.

That's when it hit him.

Nothing could replace Sherlock. Absolutely nothing.

“You're wrong, you know,” John barely whispered.

Sherlock looked up at that, his eyes shining with both tears and alien beauty. John's heart clenched.

_Oh my god. I'm in love with him. That's what's missing._

John, in his revelation, could barely move a muscle. He gulped down his tea as a distraction and glanced to his right at Rosie who was smirking blissfully from her high-chair. John realised that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything more on the matter. It was all up to him. John would have to take the first step.

_His curls, in particular._

How he loved him. Now that he was able to admit it to himself, John must've loved Sherlock from the day they met. That's what it felt like, at least.

This revelation was a sham. When he thought about it, really, it wasn't a revelation. It was more like finally someone nudged his focus and he could suddenly see.

See what had been in front of him this whole time.

“I'm not leaving you, Sherlock,” John murmured. “Eat your breakfast.”

John clung to old rituals, because in this moment everything could change. As long as he'd be able to make Sherlock eat his breakfast, everything would be fine. At least, that was his pathetic argument.

“John,” Sherlock started with a frown. “I'm not some imbecile. I know you'll leave, eventually. It's perfectly logical.”

There it was again. Sherlock's sadness, badly disguised under petulance. John didn't really know what to do, what to say, to relief Sherlock's fears. The only thing he could think of was something Sherlock would surely not welcome. It's not like John could just reach out and...

What?

Do what exactly? Kiss him? Hold his hand?

John didn't even know what he wanted. Not really. He just knew that he wanted Sherlock in his life and in the life of his daughter. In fact, now that he thought about it, John wanted Sherlock to be more than just some figure in his daughter's life. If he was completely honest, he wanted Sherlock to be a parent to Rosie.

John steeled himself. He felt that what he was about to say could possibly break the relative peace now left in the kitchen.

“How can I leave my daughter's father?” John asked, his voice strong and his jaw set, and looked straight up into Sherlock's eyes.

Nothing happened. Not really. Sherlock just sat there, petrified, except his eyes had started rapidly blinking. He was processing, John realised. He had done this exact same thing when John asked him to be his best man. He was in shock. He was having a sort of panic attack, John's inner doctor's voice supplied.

John had to do something. He couldn't just stare at Sherlock while the man was having an existential crisis. Maybe he could say something? Actually express what he was thinking in stead of just stating the fact that he saw Sherlock as Rosie's other Dad.

_Steel yourself, Watson. Say it._

“Look, Sherlock,” John started and Sherlock's face pivoted towards him instantly. It was slightly unsettling. “I hate to spring this on you like this, but this is something I think you ought to know about me and Rosie.”

Sherlock was still blinking, but he was listening. John could tell.

_Once more onto the breach._

“Rosie and I, that is- and this is hard to say, and I don't know why because I know it to be true, but-” John took a deep breath, willing his tongue and vocal cords to carry him all the way through. “What I'm saying is that we love you,” John faltered slightly but rushed ahead anyway. “And we're not leaving, ever, I think.”

Sherlock just sat there, staring somewhere to the left of John. He was offline. Then, in a blink of an eye, he shuddered and spoke.

“I don't understand, John.”

John sighed. Of course he didn't. Sherlock wasn't like that, was he? He survived on ones and zeros. He was logical, and what John was proposing wasn't based on logic, it was based on emotion.

“You don't have to understand it, Sherlock, just believe me when I say that we won't leave you.” John took another bite of bacon, even though he didn't really want to. He wanted to present a picture of normal so Sherlock could ease up just a bit.

Sherlock wasn't having it, apparently.

“No, John, I need to understand. What you're saying is important, and I absolutely need to understand so I don't assume-, well, anything.” Sherlock seemed a bit hesitant, a bit awkward. That was new. He was normally so well spoken, so well put together. John frowned.

He'd have to say it. Spell it out.

It was almost cruel, since he just realised himself what he wanted, that he had to lay himself bare in front of Sherlock's unforgiving gaze.

“Okay, look, since you insist,” John started. He had to pause a bit to transfer bits of bacon onto Rosie's plate. She was getting restless. “I'm not sure you'll welcome this, but since you insist on understanding whatever this is, I guess I'll just say it.”

Sherlock was staring at John with such vigour that John could swear he could feel the heat of Sherlock's gaze like it was a physical thing.

“I'm not going to find some woman to date because,” John stuttered. “Well, because of you, actually.”

Sherlock's eyebrows disappeared into is curls.

“If I'm holding you back in any way-,” Sherlock tried to say, but John cut him off.

“No, it's not like that. I- well, just don't freak out, okay? I think, actually I know, that I won't be able to love anyone again. Not while you're still here. Because, Sherlock, I- err,” John trailed off and swore under his breath. What a coward. Sherlock needed to know, he _deserved_ to know.

“I love you, Sherlock. There's no one else for me, or Rosie for that matter. I think I've been in love with you since I met you but I just didn't realise right away, and I understand if this makes you feel uncomfortable because you...”

John's voice died out. He couldn't speak. It was too much. He thought about all the scenarios where Sherlock would leave him for his unwanted affections, and John completely clammed up. He gestured lamely with his fork and looked down at his half eaten bacon and eggs.

This was awful. He knew Sherlock didn't want him to leave, but would he want this? Did he truly want some middle age fool in love with a toddler in tow? Most likely not.

Really, Sherlock's fears of him leaving for some faceless woman were so unprecedented. No one would take John in his state.

No one.

“That's not true, John.”

John's head jerked up to look at Sherlock who was frowning at him. There it was. Sherlock denying John's own feelings, like he'd be mistaken to fall for that lanky git.

“Stop thinking so loudly. It's annoying,” Sherlock spat, and John suppressed a shudder of shame. “You're misunderstanding. Stop thinking no one would want you just because you're 43 years old and you have young child. It's ridiculous. You're a _catch,_ as they say,” Sherlock chastised him.

John realised Sherlock was deducing his thoughts by the emotions crossing his face.

“You really think I don't feel like you do? Well you're wrong.”

Sherlock's voice was getting steadier. He almost sounded angry.

“I feel, John. I feel a lot, in fact.”

“Of course you do, I wasn't-,” John tried to say but Sherlock went on.

“I thought it was _you_ who couldn't return my affections!”

Sherlock was standing now, staring down at John in both disbelief and irritation. John looked up at him, almost blinded by his beauty, as Sherlock gestured wildly with his arms. He was clearly distressed.

“That's why I was afraid, John. I've loved you for years and years, and I thought you would most certainly leave me once you learned the truth because, like you say _so often,_ you're not gay!”

Sherlock was positively panting and John was holding his breath. Meanwhile, Rosie was flinging bits of bacon everywhere, completely oblivious of her parents' quarrel.

John stood up tentatively and squared his jaw. Ready for battle.

“Bisexual,” he whispered.

Sherlock stopped flailing his arms and just stared. His, at the moment, blue eyes were radiant.

“What?” he whispered back.

“I'm not gay, that's true. I'm bisexual,” John explained. “And more importantly, you doofus, I'm completely and terrifyingly in love with you.”

John could see Sherlock's Adam's apple bobble in his throat as he swallowed.

They were ridiculous. Two grown men, standing with a kitchen table between them, both professing their love like it was a weapon they could throw at one another. As John realised this, his feet were already carrying him around the table, towards Sherlock's unmoving figure.

Sherlock's eyes tracked him as he rounded the table and stood in front of him, a foot shorter but unnerved.

“You?” Sherlock croaked.

“Yes.” John affirmed.

Rosie, as she alone could, disrupted their moment by giggling loudly and flinging her plate across the table. They both turned to her, and John could see the side of Sherlock's mouth curl upwards.

That sealed it.

John hummed softly and Sherlock's eyes darted back to his. John reached out with his left hand and laid it on the side of Sherlock's face.

“Can't we just take the next step?” he asked, his voice quiet and velvet.

Sherlock cleared his throat softly but otherwise didn't move. John decided they had indeed waited long enough and the next step was inevitable, so he took the last step towards Sherlock.

He tipped on his toes and slowly, oh so slowly, brought his lips to Sherlock's.

And then they were kissing, briefly, in their kitchen on a Monday morning, eggs and bacon cooling on their plates on the table and Rosie was babbling in the background.

It was perfect.

When John drew back to gaze at Sherlock with questioning eyes, Sherlock surged forwards to bring their lips together once again.

“I love you too, John,” Sherlock whispered against John's lips.

John chuckled softly, for he couldn't believe his luck.

“And I love you,” he whispered back. “So much.”

They stayed as they were, both lost in each other, until John felt the ticking of the clock as a prickling in the back of his head.

“Shit, work. I need to get to work, and Rosie-,” he started.

“Rosie will stay with me today, don't worry.”

John looked up. Sherlock was smiling. Genuinely smiling.

“Are we alright?” John inquired. He was worried. Five minutes ago, they had been Sherlock and John, best friends and flatmates. Now, they were something different, weren't they?

“John,” Sherlock said his name like a prayer and laid his large palm against John's cheek. “You expressed yourself very clearly. We're different now, are we not? I remember you explicitly saying you want me to be Rosie's father.”

“You are her father.”

“Yes, alright, I am her father. Now her other father should go to work so he won't be late.”

Sherlock sounded confident, alright, but John could sense an unease about him.

“Okay, I'll go to work, but when I come back we will talk this through, right?” John asked and marvelled at Sherlock's warmth against him.

“Yes, John.”

“Good, I love you. Don't you forget it.”

And with that, John kissed him again, ruffled his curls, then took a step back to gather his belongings.

“Don't forget to make her take a nap in the afternoon, otherwise she'll be grouchy by the time I come back,” he called over his shoulder.

He could see Sherlock roll his eyes as he sat back down next to Rosie and retrieved her plate.

“I'm her father, not an idiot!” Sherlock protested and started cutting more bacon for Rosie.

John let out a short giggle and stalled in the doorway.

“I expect you both be alive and well by the time I come back, and you and I,” he pointed at Sherlock, “are going to sort out this relationship, because that's what it is now, isn't it? A proper relationship.”

Sherlock's smile could outshine the sun.

“Yes, John.”

That smile followed John as he positively skipped towards the nearest tube station on his way to work.

Best Monday morning ever.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Over Eggs and Bacon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920302) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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